The Deathly Age
by EllGeeEee
Summary: Evelyn Summers becomes a victim of the cruel, dangerous, morbid ways of the Skillien race like every other sixteen-year-old on the planet, but she soon learns that there is more to the story than meets the eye and it involves her.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This is a story, sort of based on The Hunger Games but not. I shall just say it is 'similar'. The idea/sense of it sounds stupid at the moment but throughout the story it all pieces together. Would be great if you can tell me what you think/what needs to be done:P The next part will be up next week or so. Merry Christmas! **

**Chapter One-  
The Safe House**

I climb the steps to the grand hotel. Its monstrous gold decor towering over me as I stand in awe. Carefully, I look around me, feeling the cool breeze creep down my neck, reminding me that I really shouldn't be doing this. Inside, the air is much warmer and I can feel myself relaxing as the lobby is completely empty. The room is ginormous and the walls are painted an almost sparkling gold colour. Gold silk had been weaved into the rugs that were randomly placed around the white laminated wood flooring. Every piece of furniture is coated in a fine, smooth golden paint. I breathe in the fresh smell of fruit and just clean air. At the far end of the golden lobby, a large man dressed in yellow awaits for me to check in. I stroll over to the desk as casually as I can, making it sure that the guy at the desk doesn't take any notice to my dirty clothing.  
"Can I help you?" He asks, a slight touch of a northern accent (possibly from The Green City) creeping into his voice.  
I glance back at the door as I wonder if I should have even set foot in the area let alone the building. I could have stayed with my family and risked getting killed. But every day included that risk anyway.

I climb three flights of stairs until I reach my room, there's no number but the large, obnoxious guy at the lobby told me it's the only room on the third floor without a fresh coat of paint. I reach the door and slide the golden card into the slot, he was right; the door definitely needed some more paint. The yellow was chipping off and you could see faint pieces of the black undercoat. Inside, everything is so bright and golden, it almost blinds me. I groan, trying to find the light switch to dim everything down. Golden curtains, walls, flooring, bed sheets, fridge, cupboards, _everything. _Ever since I had stepped foot into The Golden City, I was taken back by the fact that everything is in fact _golden. _Especially compared to back home in The Dark City. I sigh; thinking about my hometown sends evil shivers down my spine.  
We live in the Dark Ages, we used to have rights, before it was taken away from us: The amount of food each household had, work times, our freedom of speech and later, everything. England, was once a brilliant, inspiring country before turning to a chilling communist-crazy country. Apparently, back in 2020 (98 years ago), the world wasn't far off from the state of it now. Except for America, Russia and half of Europe. Fifty years ago, President Marshall ordered his secret team to wipe out the countries who had morphed into a LEDC (Less Economically Developed Country). America and Europe had traded most of their coins for food. It was discovered thirteen days before that India had been proven to have most of the food in the world with its great technology and smart minds to grow man-made food. The result of this, America and most of Europe ended up being in the 'Fewer than 30%' category, created by the Skilliens. When the leaders of the Skilliens heard this, they terminated the entire lot. Including Russia who protested against the idea. Every single adult was slaughtered and every child between the ages of five and 12 were spared and made to train for any countries that rebelled against the Skillien's rules. Under fives were also terminated.

I shiver again, realizing that if I was in one of the trading countries, I too would have been killed prematurely. Age sixteen, otherwise known as 'The Deathly Age'. If you do not separate from your families and go into hiding, you will be found and relocated into a Slave Home. The thought of this sends horrifying images through my brain and I begin to feel an agonizing headache. I place my rucksack on the floor, kick off my boots and curl up onto the bed. Soft, golden silk engulfs me and I close my eyes in amazement, feeling warmth and relaxation seep into me. I feel for my phone in my pocket and check for texts: 0  
Feeling a little low, I flip over onto my back and I imagine what my family would be doing right now. I smile slightly as I imagine my mother and father comforting my twin sisters and brother. I sigh, feeling a wave of regret rush over me as I realize that leaving was going to have a much bigger impact on me than I thought. The thought of my younger brother, Ryan brings warm tears to my eyes. I haven't cried since I was young. Not even when I left home. But the thought of possibly never seeing my little Ryan again brings the pain crashing through me. Even though I love my little sisters also, my brother had always relied on me for things, and I was always the one to look after him. This grew on me and I began to think of him as a close friend as well as a beautiful brother. Shaking my head as if it would make the images fall away, I began picturing my family as I left them instead. The last glimpse of my mother, father, sisters, brother and dogs before I jogged down the road, hoping that the Skillien's slaves wouldn't be on walk about. I remember my mother's thin, ragged mousy brown hair tied up behind her with a frail ribbon as tears crawled down her pale, heart-shaped face. She cradled the four-year-old twins, Amelia and Sophia in her arms. Amelia's body was shaking with tears whilst Sophia's face stayed simply cold and paralyzed by the travesty. Beside them was my father, teary-eyed but smiling slightly, waving me off whilst clutching the dog's leads.

I smile again, remembering Bertha and Millie, the young Yorkshire Terriers that belongs to my six-year-old brother. Oh Ryan, I remember his sweet little face all red with tears, his bottom lip quivering as he pressed his head into my shoulder and I carried him outside to where the family stood, waiting to wave me off.  
"Don't go Evelyn." He whispered into my ear as I placed him down next to our father.  
"I'm afraid I have to." I admitted, kissing every one of them on the cheek or forehead before turning away and making my way down the street.  
My phone buzzes, startling me from my reverie. It's the text, telling me that the blackout will begin in thirty minutes. The blackout is where the deaths begin rising. The Skilliens begin to patrol every street until the sixteen-year-olds are hunted out. My friend Aylah told me that I wouldn't have trouble escaping because I was such a fast runner and a brilliant hider. For a moment, I begin to drift off into another memory...  
The last time I had cried. I had only just found out about the Slave Homes, the Skilliens and The Deathly Age.  
"Evelyn Summers, you will be the last person I see in a Slave Home. You're brilliant at hiding and their legs are no match for yours!" Aylah insisted.  
"But in seven years time we'll be sixteen; we'll have to run away from our homes." I sobbed.  
Aylah comforted me, unable to say another word as she processed this information; she too, knew it was going to happen.

I wipe a lonely tear with my left thumb as I wonder how Aylah is getting on. _Has she been caught already? Is she hiding underground or in a Safe House like me?_ Although she knew that I was good at things, Aylah had good strategies too. One time three years ago, she escaped the Skillien slaves who were heading down her street, searching for poor sixteen-year-olds. They had caught her roaming the street by herself and they threatened to keep her but she escaped. Barely.  
I keep repeating names in my head. Ryan Summers. Amelia and Sophia Summers. Aylah Truman.  
A loud knock at the golden door startles me and I jump up, half expecting the Skilliens to barge in and take me prisoner. The reverberation of the knocking begins to irritate me as the knocker continues to make their presence known.  
"Alright, alright!" I groan, wiping remaining tears and scrubbing myself down, making myself look more presentable.  
I open the door to reveal a handsome but scrubby young man wearing ripped, dirty, worn out clothes that make my entire body fill up with lethargy just by laying eyes on them. I try my best to give my winning smile but I'm frightened that it appears to be a meaningless grimace.  
"Um, hey there. I was just passing by this hotel when I saw you coming in, are you hiding too?" The boy asks, his light brown hair sways beside his face as he looks behind his shoulders as if expecting an unwanted guest.  
I nod whilst I gather up my options on what to say to this stranger.  
"The Deathly Age." I manage, barely hearing it myself.  
The boy nods in response and says quietly, "Is it safe here? It's just... I don't have any experience and I don't think I can survive much longer. Every room is taken here and I don't know if there is another Safe House for miles."

I pause, weighing out options._ Do I let him die? Do I let him stay with me? _I shift my weight, impatient with my own train of thought.  
"I don't trust strangers." I say finally.  
The boy's lips turn up at one corner slightly, "Do I look like a Skillien?"  
He was right. It's frightfully easy to spot a Skillien with their scales and dark red skin. Despite this, their features are still similar to humans. I widen the door enough for the boy to step in.  
"Thank you." He smiles, rushing past me. I breathe in a wave of his scent. _Shower is in the room on the left, _I want to say.  
I close the door and return to my bag to place it on a golden shelf in the corner of the room.  
"What's your name?" I ask.  
The boy makes a noise of amusement, "Actually, it's a nickname but, it's Bud."  
"Bud." I repeat slowly, "Well, Bud. I'm Evelyn Summers. What's your real name, for future references?"  
Bud pauses, hesitates, and then shakes his head. I raise my eyebrows at him before turning away as he unexpectedly takes off his grubby shirt.  
"I have nothing to hide. Turn back." Bud chuckles.  
As I do, I regret it. Bud's muscles are exposed, his broad shoulders so dirty but tan. His hair is so greasy but I can tell that it looks so beautiful when it's groomed. I cross the room and open the bathroom door to inspect its contents. The gold blinds me again as expected but I try my best not to show the pain.  
"You can take a shower if you wish." I call out to Bud.  
"Thank you." He shouts back before joining me in the bathroom, "Do you mind if I take the offer now?"  
I stare at him blankly, unable to process his last words, stunned by his natural beauty underneath his ash covered face.  
My eyes blink shut before I focus completely on reality, "Uh, yeah, sorry. Go ahead."  
I pass him swiftly to exit but as I do, Bud's soft voice speaks to me quietly.  
"Blake." He says, "Blake Regan."  
I smile softly to myself as I close the door behind me, placing his name with his face.


	2. Chapter 1 Part 2

Fifteen minutes later, Bud returns, clean and fresh. His teeth sparkle a fresh white colour as he grins at me. A golden towel wraps tightly around his waist.  
"I feel so much better now I have a shelter and a shower." He laughs.  
I chuckle before I remember that we only have fourteen minutes to gather ourselves before the dreaded blackout occurs. Seeing my sudden alarm at the current time, Bud seems to know exactly my reason for my change in behavior.  
"There was a vending machine on the level below; we should get supplies from there. We don't have enough time to buy from a store." He suggests.  
With a quick nod, I grab my bag and head out of the door, running down to the level below and reaching the full machine. I grab a handful of British dollars and throw them into the slot, punching in the different numbers that appeared in the window. When a various amount of drinks, crisps, nuts and chocolates fall into the pocket, I scoop it all up and return to my room. There is an awful silence between Bud and I as we wait for the blackout to occur. The seven minute moment where everything goes pitch black in The Golden City even in the sun. My phone buzzes in my pocket a second time: '12 seconds remaining.' Bud receives the same text before looking up at me with a nod of acceptance. _Keep calm, Evelyn. _I say to myself, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth slowly. I lay on the double bed with Bud sitting across the room with his back against the locked front door, his head in between his knees. _5, 4, 3, 2, 1. _Everything goes dark.

My eyes adjust slightly to the sudden change of light. I can just about make out Bud's outline as his head snaps up and looks in my direction. Several tears fall from my eyes and I sniff noisily, unaware of what will happen to my family and friends. Aylah.  
"Are you alright?" Bud's quiet voice presses through the darkness.  
I shake my head although he cannot see me, "I don't think so."  
Although we had just met, I wouldn't mind a warm embrace from him to tell me it was okay but he remained post by the door.  
"We'll be alright. I bet they don't even get to this City tonight. Not everyone kept moving forward like we have." Bud says.  
"Are you leaving tomorrow? To keep moving?" A pain sears through my chest at the thought of travelling alone again.  
Bud is silent for a moment, worrying me slightly.  
He finally says, "Are you staying? I don't want to be here if you don't want me to. If you're going, I'll go too."  
I pause then accidentally nod again, "Yes. I think I'll be on foot tomorrow. Hopefully, we'll find another Safe House before the morning blackout."  
Silence. I realize that I included Bud in my suggestion, I said w_e'll_ instead of _I'll_. I wait for a reply but there is only silence. When the lights return several minutes later, my face stings with tears but Bud remains completely paralyzed by the event. When the lights stop flickering and stay on permanently, Bud stands himself up and crosses the room to his muddy bag. He pulls out an apple, a chocolate bar and a huge bag of my favorite sweets. Another pain sears through my chest, an image of Ryan and I sitting in the Attic playing Truth or Dare whilst eating the strawberry sweets that Bud now held in his clean hands.  
"I managed to save some for my stay." He said, obviously forcing a smile.  
Eyeing my own bag, I realize that Bud came well prepared but I only managed as much as a phone, money, a few changes of clothes, spray, a toothbrush and a brush. Remembering these things, I get up to shower.  
"I'll be in the bathroom." I say, before quickly locking myself in and stripping from my dirty, sweaty clothing. Once the water is warm enough, I step in, rinsing my body and hair of the dust molecules and dried mud.

After seven minutes, I step out and wrap a golden towel around my shoulders and make myself look presentable before I return to Bud. When I step out, Bud is in the kitchen, looking through cupboards and drawers. He has changed into a plain black Tee, and dark jeans, something so casual for such a tragic string of events that will unfold in the near future.  
I jog over to my bag and dig out some decent clothes before making my way into the bathroom again without Bud noticing my presence. I slip into a pair of denim jeans and a lengthy top which was filled with sparkles and writing. I dried my hair with the towel and brushed it through, making it smooth, manageable and cooperative. The same sharp knock on the door sounds through the golden painted wood of the bathroom.  
"Are you hungry? I know that we've only just met but I'm sure a cooked meal from _anyone _right now is better than none." Bud calls through the crack.  
I smile sweetly at where his face would be through the door and sigh.  
"Sounds good, Bud." I call. There is a moment of silence and I thought I heard him laugh slightly.  
I open the door and stare at him with raised eyebrows, demanding with my expression that he tells me what's so funny.  
Bud explains, "It's just... You're the only girl I know who actually agrees to call me Bud. I don't mind what you call me; Bud is just a name that developed a few years back when I fell into a patch of roses that were still budding. Since all of my friends back home are nicknamed after a personal experience, e.g. 'Bruise', 'Bulge' and 'Sting', they thought about calling me Rose but I refused as you can tell. So instead, they called me Bud."  
"So I can call you Blake?" I ask.  
Bud nods, "I don't mind either. Call me both if you like, I'll still respond."  
I think for a moment, repeating 'Bud' in my mind and then repeating 'Blake'. I settle for both.  
"I'll call you both." I tell him with a grin, showing my own naturally straight teeth.

I consider myself lucky in that department. Growing up, my teeth were pretty bad but as time got on, my teeth reconstructed themselves to fit my mouth better and now look like they have endured orthodontic treatment. I also never get blemishes. My mother always called me 'Angelface' because my skin was always so smooth even if I had been rolling in mud or covered in dust and dirt for a few hours. Bud yawns silently before returning his focus to the food he is preparing in the kitchen, whatever it is. After several minutes, Bud comes toward me with a bowl of something hot. The contents are brown and mushy and steam rises from each lumpy molecule.  
"Uh, thanks?" I say, taking the hot food.  
Bud chuckles, revealing light dimples, "It's chocolate and the strawberry sweets melted together."  
"No way!" I cry, "Those strawberries were the limited edition drinking ones?"  
Bud nods proudly.  
"I would have killed for a pack of those! They were so expensive, my brother and I attempted to save our pocket money up to buy them but we weren't even close." I complained, taking a mouthful of the mixture. The steam pelts around my mouth and I find myself fanning my tongue.  
"Uh, it's hot Evelyn." Bud warns me with a crooked smile. He returns with his own bowl of steaming mixture and sits next to me on the bed.  
I find the food rather pleasurable and down it all in about twenty mouthfuls. I thank Bud and wash my bowl and place it in one of the almost empty golden cupboards.  
"I was thinking..." Bud says as I sit back down, "There's only one bed and two of us."  
I pause, my breath catches in my throat and I am forced to swallow a horrific taste that gathers in my mouth. A few seconds pass before I regain my focus and grab the confidence to look Bud in the eyes.  
"I-I don't know. I guess we could-..."  
"I'll sleep on the floor." Bud interrupts.  
Taken by surprise, I imagine the outcome and can't bear the thought of kicking someone away from the opportunity to have sleep in a comfortable bed when they have been walking for hours.  
"Oh no, I couldn't possibly make you sleep down there. I'll sleep there and you can have the bed." I suggest before being silenced by Bud's face. He just has one of those faces where you just have to stop breathing if he looks at you sharply.  
"We'll both sleep on the bed. We can draw a line down the middle if you feel that uncomfortable." Bud smiles and pulls back the covers and jumps inside.

I awkwardly picture sharing the bed with the stranger beside me. I smile, then nod, trying my hardest to think up a plan B.  
"We should share life stories, I like finding out about new people." Bud smiles.  
A striking idea pops into my head. I can sneak out of the bed at the first signs of Bud's dreams then I wouldn't have to find it as awkward.  
A knock at the door snaps me out of my reverie. I shoot a glance at Bud and he shakes his head.  
He whispers, "It could be a Skillien in disguise. Don't answer it."  
I analyze his face; he looks worried, alarmed and surprisingly frightened.  
"I can't not answer it Blake, it could be someone who needs a room for the night, just like you." I suggest, hoping that my suggestion is much more likely than his. Unfortunately, anything could happen during the Silent Weeks. Skilliens are only on patrol for three weeks on end. Each week a new batch of danger is sent out to the troubled teens.  
Shuffling to the door silently, I press my ear against the crack and listen hard.  
"Get back!" Bud hisses, jumping up from the bed to pull me back. I glare at him and press my ear to the door once more before reaching out for the handle. Before Bud can even think about stopping me, I push down on the door handle and the door widens to reveal a vacant space in front of me.  
"Hello?" I call.  
Bud silences me wish a 'hush' and pulls me back inside and closes the door quietly.  
"We could have been killed there." He accuses.  
Narrowing my eyes, I sit back down on the bed and lay back comfortably against the headrest. I close my eyes for a moment to stop the stinging tears from breaking through the barrier and slipping down my face.  
Bud senses my sadness and sits beside me.  
"I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight." He says, "I'll be too alert."  
Finally able to speak past the lump in my throat I force a smile, "You should get some shut-eye. It's going to be a long day tomorrow. Are we going to work together from here on?"  
Bud pauses, obviously thinking about what I had just put across to him. He nods. He raises his right hand straight.  
"I hereby declare that from this moment onwards, I will work as a team with Evelyn Summers to create the best skills to survive through what we can." He proclaims.  
I manage a small laugh before a shiver crawls over me. I shake it off and sink further into the bed, throwing the covers over me.

"So, tell me about yourself." I say, making conversation.  
Bud sinks down beside me, "You first, I love hearing stories and you seem like the kind of girl who keeps loads of them."  
He's right. I have so many stories about my life that I couldn't possibly share in one short night. It needed approximately six of them.  
"Uh, what do you want to know?" I ask.  
Bud thinks for a moment, a couple of faint lines appear on his smooth forehead as his beautiful blue eyes wander around the room gently.  
"Tell me about your family. If you don't mind me knowing of course. It's just, I learnt that it helps to refresh your memory when it comes to the people you love." Bud tells me.  
"Well, uh, I guess I could tell you who my family consists of..." I begin, Bud nods so I carry on, "My mother is Perdita Summers and my father is Fredrick Summers, I have twin sisters called Amelia and Sophia and then there's my gorgeous little brother Ryan who is also one of my best friends as well as my younger brother."  
"Closer to the brother like me I guess." Bud says quietly, "How come you don't like your sisters as much?"  
I shrug, "They're twins, and they've got each other. They don't need looking after although they are four. They're quite mature for their ages. But then there's Ryan Jackson Fredrick Summers who's six. He's the best thing that ever happened to me in the entire family and I've never quite understood why."  
Bud looks extremely interested with my story and he signals for me to carry on.  
"Tell me about him, what does he look like?" Bud asks, the lines in his forehead returning.  
I close my eyes for longer than needed and find myself getting tired and drowsy.  
"He has auburn hair like me. He has a round face with little freckles around his nose." I pause, "I can't stop thinking about him... Let's hear about you instead."  
Bud turns on his side to face me, "I doubt that there's much to tell. I can't really tell you about my family. They aren't exactly... Used to being exposed."  
He seems to smile at his own joke privately. I don't bother asking as it will be something that he tells me in time as I know that we will be working together closely and hopefully we will get closer too.  
"Well, then, tell me about yourself." I suggest.  
Bud's smile dissipates, "Again, there's not much to tell."  
He turns back to face the ceiling, indicating that he doesn't want to have the conversation.  
"Then what can you tell me?" I ask.  
Bud gives a sharp sigh before he grins, "Well, I got braces when I was eight."  
My eyebrows rise slightly, my first thoughts on Bud were that he was used to being dirty and grubby and possibly alone but, to have braces, it costs more than we earn in a year.

There was a moment of deafening silence between Bud and I.  
Bud suddenly lets out a chuckle, "Oh no, I'm not rich."  
"Do you read minds?" I let out an uneasy laugh, "I just thought that... Because you could afford braces..."  
"You're not the first one to say that. My father, uhh, knows people that know others... Never mind." Bud looks down at me slightly.  
I study his face, expressionless but impossibly gorgeous. From what I remember of his grins, his teeth _were _unnaturally straight and they were glossy white. The gold tint of everything in the room reflects on his shiny mouth.  
I take my chance to ask Bud more questions, "Where do you live? Who did you leave behind? How was it? You can answer those, right?"  
Bud thinks for a second before giving me a small nod, "I live a few miles south from here in The Light City, I left behind my father, two older brothers and adopted younger sister and, I guess it was kinda hard."  
"You live in The Light City? I visit there once every year. My mother grew up there as a child. She misses it dearly." I tell Bud, closing my eyes for a long moment, memorizing every, blinding white aspect of the town.  
Bud gives me an impressive look, "Living in The Light City in the old days must have been pretty strict. Where are _you _from? Emeralds? No wait, Crystals."  
I shake my head with a slight smile, "I'm actually from The Dark City."  
A curtain of silence falls over Bud and he drops his gaze.  
"I'm sorry." He says quietly.  
I smile, "It's okay Bud, I'm not one of those people who can't bear to think that they live in possibly the worst known area in the whole of modern England."


End file.
